Slam Dunk
by pronker
Summary: Skippy can't read.


Title: Slam Dunk

Author: pronker

Era: Sixty-five days after "Candles."

Summary: Skippy can't read.

A/N: Written to acknowledge and rejoice in twelve years of fun on theforceDOTnet as of January 28, 2019.

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"You _do_ know penguins can't read, right, chimps?"

Phil paid no attention to Skipper's comment as he slumped at the Zoovenir shop computer monitor with his hands dangling down to his shins, but his partner made a _pssh_ sound. "Of course. That's why you come to us whenever you need intel, as you call it, from the internet or a printed flyer that a guest dropped or to read a bubblegum wrapper's unfunny joke." Mason's tone turned cloudy with a hint of threat. "Phil signed to me last night that you only like us because he can read and write and that's okay with him, but it's not with me."

Private served once again as cheerer-upper. "That's not true! We like everybody in this zoo even-steven, right, Skippa?"

It was Skipper's turn to ignore unimportant static surrounding the current blip on the Central Park Zoo Peace Radar. "I'm sensing a request, Mason. Get to it fast, because the Rangers' game starts in thirty minutes."

Phil swirled his hands in lackluster fashion and Mason nodded. "Phil says he wants to use your mean streak to fill out a Butthurt Report for a website moderator." Mason patted Phil's leg that curled tensely around the leg of the human-proportioned stool and Phil's palm settled on Mason's shoulder. The monitor hummed as if nothing mattered outside its self-contained world, which it didn't. "He got his feelings hurt in a message board post, poor soul."

Rico's _awwwwwww_ betrayed his soft heart. "'Kippaaaah, _helpim."_

"Sir, you do possess a knack for insults," Kowalski added thoughtfully. "Let it fly free in a good cause."

Private weighed in with nostalgia to tip the scales towards deciding to help. "Gosh, we've known Phil and Mason since Madagascar and they've done us ever so many good turns."

The Zoovenir shop's familiar setting failed to erase the blip of surprise on Skipper's Personal Peace Radar. So his compadres and long time acquaintances thought him capable of supplying mean at the drop of a chapeau? He was supposed to shred the ego of someone he had never met in battle or anyplace else? Someone as non-threatening as a gerbil to the zoo or the world at large? He was a, a, penguin Triumph the Insult Comic Dog? And this effort was likely to diss a mammal offender, a _human!_ Pointless, indeed.

He took a leaf from his old time OCS instructor who said _recon the sitch like you're looking in through a window._ As he peeked with binoculars into the plushy filled Zoovenir shop on an overcast January evening, this is what Skipper saw first: Phil's beaten down expression, Mason's smug appraisal of Skipper's character, Private's blithe faith in his commander, Rico's happy go lucky smile that showed he had moved on to the topic of his next meal, and Kowalski's envy of Phil's literacy.

He changed lenses to impersonal ones: Mason leaned his head against Phil's knee, Phil patted Mason's sagittal crest, Rico skipped to the Fudgy Duckling Icy Pops freezer chest in the corner, Private waddled to the stack of plushies bearing his likeness, and Kowalski selected a New York Rangers pennant from a bin.

The Rangers. Shattenkirk's performance would prove outstanding, as per usual. He couldn't wait to see it. He could contribute snark and then enjoy the game. He would rethink his social rep later. "First question, simian?" Phil straightened his spine from three quarters to one half slump after a nod in Skipper's direction.

"Phil thanks you, and so do I, Skipper." Mason's voice dripped genteel appreciation, then he harrumphed and poked Phil's great toe. "Phil, go straight to after where you told me you clicked 'they should be hunted down like a dog and shot dead on their own front porch,' to the 'other' category where you may, um, extemporize. Open up a new file for overflow snark." At Skipper's blank look, Kowalski chipped in as would any attentive lieutenant.

"Ten four on their end. Fire when ready, sir."

Skipper prepared for action. "Repeat the question."

Phil scowled at the monitor, slammed the computer mouse around, typed at cheetah-like speed and afterwards hyperventilated while he signed rapidly to his fellow chimp.

"You say they're at it again? The bounder!" Mason slammed a fist on the floor.

Skipper backed away three steps. "Phil! Mason! Fling any poo at your online enemy and we're out of here, got that?"

"We vowed not to until Phil hits Enter." Mason's grin showed all his teeth. "After that, all bets are off."

 _Mammals._ "Why would you - the perp is on the freaking _internet_ where you can't reach - "

"It's tradition," answered Mason. "Like the president throwing the first pitch at the beginning of baseball season. Surely you penguins understand tradition?" Helpful allies or not, the snide exchange got under Skipper's pin feathers. He registered movement in his vicinity, undoubtedly his team forming up ranks in solidarity at his side.

"Don't bring sports into this! Sports are clean and honorable, not like sniping - "

"Skippa, we're behind you to the end!" Private chirped support from in back of the Fudgy Duckling Icy Pops freezer chest in the far corner of the shop where three black and white heads sprouted. "We're, um, over here out of flingin' range because of, er, well - "

Skipper didn't bother to turn around. "Because you're all nancy cats?"

"Harsh words, sir, harsh words."

Rico favored brevity. "Yah."

Shattenkirk likely promenaded pre-game with his teammates around the rink by now. "Get on with the question, simians." Skipper ran through his own pre-insult checklist: physical appearance, intelligence, patriotism, choice of font. He'd heard that font choice served as prime ammunition on the internet. "I'm good for one blast, so pick your target."

Silent communication rattled between the two chimps until finally Mason faced Skipper, hands on hips. "Target acquired, Skipper, so here's the question. 'Did you take actions yourself regarding the butthurt?'"

Even with the word _action_ in the question, he just wasn't feeling the mean. However, one lesson on extemp exposition topic speaking remained part of OCS curriculum that all grads took with them into their careers: Get Up Close And Personal. Skipper cleared his throat, crossing his flippers behind his back for luck. He planted his feet. "Here goes, Phil: Yes, Random Internet Poster, I took action by roping in my partner to rope in my home's protector who tried real hard to produce snark but produced only a general Life Lesson: Play Nice."

Three events happened in close sequence when Mason blew a raspberry, Phil resumed his slump that resembled a kowtow to the computer monitor, and Marlene flung the door open.

"Guys! Skipper! The game's nearly started, hustle and you can make kickoff!" Marlene announced in her usual bubbly manner. "Wait, what's going on?"

"Skippa's provokin' a poo attack, Marlene, get behind the freezer with us! Move over, K'walski, to make room, oh no don't push me out lackin' a brolly - "

"Marlene, get to cover, I'm lieutenant and I'll get Skipper's six! Rico, break out the riot shields and prepare for - "

" _Onnit,_ Kwoskii!" One after another, four riot shields dumped to the floor after Rico's regurgitating reverberations. He kicked one to each of his teammates before hoisting his own.

The sitch burned too immediate to visualize looking in the window at it; Skipper acted. He spun on his heel, picked up his riot shield and hustled to Marlene's side. "Get under my flipper pronto, Marlene, I'll protect you!"

"From what? It's just you guys and Mason - hi, Mason - and Phil - hi, Phil." She stepped from behind the shield. "Want to join us watching the game? Let's see, we need a snack run, right?" She rummaged on the shelves to gather six boxes of Cracker Jacks. "Yum! Almost as good as cotton candy! Pay the till, would you, Rico?" She headed for the open door. "Come on, what are you waiting for? Hurry up, Burt is watching the baby, he's _such_ a sweet guy, but you know how Sally loves her mommy and daddy."

There had been a wind rising since thirty minutes ago and the open door swung back and forth after her exit. Skipper dropped his shield. "Chimps, I surrender. That was a lame insult, so fling away. Hurry up, because I will need to rinse and then we can all catch the game, okay?" He presented himself in T-posing position and closed his eyes.

Everyone froze except Phil, who rose from his slump. He typed, gradually accelerating, grinned and hit Enter with a flourish.

"Phil? Your honor is satisfied?" Mason sounded undecided. Phil mimed rolling something up, arced the something over his head to an invisible target, and signed vehemently to Mason. "A slam dunk? You're positive? No takebacks?"

Phil nodded as he dismissed the monitor with a slap, jumped down and headed out the door.

Mason faced Skipper. "If he is satisfied, then I am. We'll take you up on your offer of the game. For one thing, who is going to tell Marlene that in hockey it's a faceoff and not a kickoff?"

Skipper slid his flipper into the crook of Mason's arm. "We'll flip for it. Come on, boys!"

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The End.

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End file.
